


Happy Birthday, Claude

by Songspinner



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Party, Claude is so loved ;_;, Established Relationship, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:08:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25485187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Songspinner/pseuds/Songspinner
Summary: It's Claude's birthday, and he expects it to be an uneventful one. He turns out to be wrong in the best way.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan, Hilda Valentine Goneril & Claude von Riegan, My Unit | Byleth & Claude von Riegan
Comments: 5
Kudos: 57





	Happy Birthday, Claude

Claude has zero expectations for his birthday, and he’s fine with that. For one thing, he didn’t tell anyone it  _ was _ his birthday today. For another, it seems tacky. Gauche, even. Particularly given his leadership role--telling the Deer about his birthday might make them feel obliged to do something for him, and what’s the point of that?

Back in Harpstring Moon, Claude helped the Lions throw a surprise party for Mercedes’ birthday. The joy on her face when she walked into the room to find all her friends there unexpectedly, celebrating her life together, was practically radiating from her. Students from all three houses showed up to wish her happiness, because Mercedes is well-loved by everyone at the monastery, and Claude basked in the way planning and throwing the party brought everyone who cared about her together, regardless of origin or title.

Now, as he rises from bed with a yawn and starts to get dressed in his usual uniform, he wonders what it would be like to have a surprise party thrown for him. In Almyra and in Derdriu both, his birthdays have always been big deals, of course--but they’re never celebrations for  _ him _ .  Just for his position, the accident of his birth. And they're certainly never surprises, just stuffy political affairs full of jostling for influence and competing over who can give the most lavish gift that makes the best impression on the heir’s family.  _ But you can't exactly ask people to throw you a surprise party, can you? That would defeat the whole purpose. _

Besides, if someone  _ did _ throw a party for him, it probably wouldn’t get much in the way of attendance. Sure, he’s got Hilda and Raphael--and Dimitri, of course--and the Professor would probably come. Mercedes might too, because she’s the nicest person on the continent. But most of his fellow students seem to view him as more of a nuisance than anything, and that’s  _ aside _ from all the rumors people make up about him on a regular basis. To be fair, he leans into that image because it makes them underestimate him (and, okay, it’s fun). But it also leads to eating alone at the dining hall a lot if he doesn’t actively insert himself into someone else’s company.

So that’s the most he bothers to think about it, and soon he’s distracted enough with classes and lunch and training that he almost forgets it’s even his birthday at all. Which, again, is fine. Totally fine.

He’s on his way to the baths after working up a sweat in the training hall when Ignatz runs up to him, slightly out of breath. “Claude! There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

“Hey, Ignatz. Sorry, no time to chat--a nice, warm bath is calling my name.” He smiles, waves farewell, and keeps walking, but Ignatz hurries to fall into step with him. “Or you could come with me, that’s fine too. What’s on your mind?”

“Um…” Why does Ignatz seem so nervous? Sure, the guy’s shy, but by now they’ve had lots of conversations and he’s seemed perfectly at ease. “I--I need you to come to the classroom. Just for a few minutes!”

“Huh?” Claude stops again and turns to face Ignatz fully, one hand on his hip. “Why, is something wrong?”

“No!” Ignatz shakes his head so hard, Claude thinks his glasses might fly off his face. “No, it’s just--the Professor’s making plans for the next archery tournament, and they said they needed your input.”

“Ignatz, the next archery tournament isn’t for almost a month. Why is this so urgent?”

“Um--! Can you just come with me? The Professor told me to fetch you and I don’t want to disappoint them, okay?”

Claude sighs. “Fine, fine. But Teach owes me for this.”

Ignatz breathes a sigh of relief when he thinks Claude isn’t looking, as they turn around and head for the classroom. Claude suspects this has nothing to do with an archery tournament, but why would  _ Ignatz _ of all people lie? Maybe Byleth told him to. Is this a test of his ability to anticipate trouble? Will they jump him with a training sword as soon as he steps into the room? The Professor is definitely not above springing that kind of hands-on stuff on him without warning. Keeps him on his toes, they say, though Claude likes to think he keeps  _ himself _ on his toes pretty well already.

He readies himself as they approach the classroom door. It’s shut, which is unusual even at this time of the evening; it only strengthens his suspicions, and he’s almost positive he’s right when Ignatz says, “After you,” and hangs back for him to open the door.

Claude smirks to himself, putting a hand on the door handle.  _ I figured out your scheme, Teach _ , he thinks, smug.  _ You can’t take me by surprise so easily. _

He pulls the door open and dives into a roll in one smooth motion, anticipating the attack coming from a standing position. Mid-roll, he kicks out to the side, sweeping the Professor off their feet. It happens so fast that only afterward does he register the chorus of “SURPRI--” followed by a bunch of shrieking and laughing and yelling.

He lands in a crouch, twisting to face the Professor, and--oh, that’s...that’s not Teach.  “Oh gods,  _ Dimitri? _ I’m sorry, I thought--”

Dimitri waves a hand from where he landed on his back on the floor and starts to rise. Claude jumps up and offers him a hand, which he gladly takes to pull himself up. “Ah, no apologies, Claude. No harm done.” Dimitri smiles.

Claude wants to argue with him, but first he turns around to see what all the ruckus is--and gasps, jaw dropping. The room is  _ full _ of smiling people standing under a banner that reads HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CLAUDE! in beautiful calligraphy. The Professor stands by their desk, where a humongous cake and various dinner dishes are laid out like a buffet. Several desks are piled with gifts. Every single Golden Deer is here, the entire house, along with not just Mercedes but Annette too. And he’s even more taken aback to see  _ Edelgard _ , watching him with an amused little smile, standing with Dorothea and Petra.

Before he can muster any words, Hilda runs out from where she was perched on an empty desk and waves her arms to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, okay, quiet down, let’s try this again! One, two--”

Everyone shouts “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CLAUDE!”--well, everyone except the people who are still doubled over laughing about his mistake. But…

But for once, it doesn’t feel like they’re laughing  _ at _ him.

Soon, Hilda starts laughing too, coming over to throw her arms around him in a quick hug that he doesn’t even have a chance to return properly. “Come on, you look like a silly fish just staring like that! You can’t really be  _ that _ surprised, right?”

Claude tries. He really does. He tries to keep it together, tries to say something disarming and casual so he can take back control of this situation. Instead what comes out of his mouth is, “How did you even know??”

“It was the Professor,” Dimitri chimes in. “They know everyone’s birthdays.”

“Teach?” Claude turns to them, still feeling like his eyes are way too wide. “This was your idea?” If Claude were the sort of person to cry, he might be tearing up right about now.

But the Professor shakes their head. “Not me. I just told Hilda it was your birthday.”

Claude’s gaze bounces to her, but she says, “Wellll, I can’t take all the credit. After the Professor told me, I told Marianne and Lysithea and Dimitri. And then--”

“Suffice it to say, it was a group effort,” Dimitri cuts in, clear blue eyes sparkling with equal parts amusement and admiration.

“A group effort…” Claude swallows. He feels warm, so warm. “I...I don’t know what to say.”

“You hear that?” says Leonie. “We’ve achieved the impossible, our very own Claude von Riegan is speechless!”

Laughter bubbles across the room, but all Claude can really hear is ‘our very own Claude.’ At least, until Hilda grabs his hand and tugs him toward the food. “Get over here already so we can start the party for real!”

So he does, and they do. They eat and laugh and chat, all together. They eat cake, and Lysithea is even generous enough to let Claude take the last piece instead of keeping it for herself (“ _ just _ this once”). They present their gifts, and each one is personal, related to some shared experience or conversation over tea they’ve had with him.

By the time things die down and people start bidding him good night, Claude’s feeling more or less like himself again (and if he sniffled once or twice during the gift-giving, can he really be blamed?). Eventually it’s just him, Hilda, Dimitri, and the Professor.

Claude rubs his hands together. “Let’s start cleaning all this up, shall we, Teach?”

But the Professor shakes their head. “Let me take care of it. You go on.”

So the three students wander out into the warm summer night. Claude puts out his hand to let a firefly land in it, feeling like he might never stop smiling. They walk until Hilda veers off toward the dorms, citing a jewelry project she still wants to work on. But before she goes, she turns to glance at Dimitri over her shoulder. “You’d better not forget to give him his gift.”

Dimitri’s brow furrows. “But I already--” Hilda blinks slowly, giving him a Look. He blushes. “Oh! Yes, of course. The...  _ other _ gift.”

Hilda nods, satisfied. “See you two later,” she calls as she saunters off.

Claude turns to Dimitri, eyebrow arched. “Another gift? What’s this all about? You all haven’t spoiled me rotten enough yet for one day?”

Dimitri doesn’t quite smile, but that amusement is back in his eyes. “Not quite yet. This way.”

Claude is feeling almost dizzy after so much bewilderment (and, he admits to himself, so many feelings), but he follows gamely along as the prince leads him past the dorms and toward the pond. “Come on, Your Princeliness, I don’t even get a hint?”

“Not a one,” Dimitri replies, much too smug. “For someone who loves surprising people as much as you do, you’re awfully impatient about this.”

“Surprises are for other people,” Claude grumbles, but it’s good-natured, and it gets Dimitri chuckling.

Finally, they round the pond until they come to a small, secluded area behind the greenhouse, where a curtain of ivy hides a little patch of grass from the world. Dimitri pushes the ivy aside and holds it there for Claude to walk through, like an absolute gentleman. Claude scours the area with his eyes, but sees nothing other than grass and a few flowers. “Augh, the suspense is killing me, I can’t take it! What’s my gift?”

Dimitri steps close, close enough for Claude to smell the particular soap the prince uses in the bath and feel his warmth through his jacket. Claude tips his head back to look up into Dimitri’s eyes, brilliant in the moonlight and gazing at him as though the world revolved around him. “Claude,” the prince says in that deep, velvet voice as he brings up both hands to cup Claude’s face, so gentle, the way he might handle delicate lace or a perfectly symmetrical snowflake. “I want you to know that you are extremely precious to me. Your radiance astounds me. I feel that I could warm my hands at the hearth of your flame through the very coldest of winters. I cannot imagine this place, or my life, without you in it.”

This isn’t the first time Dimitri has said such incredibly sappy things to him, but it is the first time Claude can remember hearing this kind of... _ reverence _ in the words. His face feels like it really is a hearth flame under Dimitri’s fingers, reddening further the more the prince talks. “Dima…” Claude rests his hands against the prince’s warm chest. “Is that my gift?” he whispers.

“No,” Dimitri says. “This is.”

As he leans in to meet Claude’s lips in a slow and tender kiss, Claude closes his eyes and thinks that he’ll have to outdo this somehow when Dimitri’s birthday rolls around. And then he lets himself _stop_ thinking for once, to melt into his prince’s arms and enjoy his birthday present.


End file.
